


Unconventional Daughterhood

by BlueVase



Series: Unconventional [1]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueVase/pseuds/BlueVase
Summary: A companion piece to Unconventional Motherhood, though both can be read separately. Barbara and Shelagh have a good conversation about what name to give to friendships that don’t always fit that label.TW: none, I think.





	Unconventional Daughterhood

**A sister piece to _Unconventional Motherhood._ After the discussion about what the relationship between Sister Julienne and Shelagh is (is it purely maternal, is it just friendship, is it some kind of hybrid?) I am still no closer to a definite answer. This piece is my solution ;). Thanks for @purple-roses-words-and-love for suggesting the idea, as well as betaing. You go girl!**

 

Between the ceremony and the reception there usually is a bit of spare time that most brides spend with their husbands, kissing and fondling, or in front of a mirror, reapplying smudged lipstick or combing their hair. Barbara did none of those things; she went to the chapel at Nonnatus House.

The sweet scent of incense brought back memories of her childhood, when she helped clean the church or watched her father speak words of love to his flock.

The chapel was deserted, and cold. The silence was a balm for Barbara’s ears, still buzzing with the applause and kind words of family and friends. The cold, seeping in from outside, was pleasant, too; it cooled her brow, which was almost feverishly hot.

Yes, she knew exactly why she was here: chapels and churches were places of refuge, still points in a life that was forever changing. And oh, how much had changed today! She had stopped feeling like a girl ever since she started working in Poplar, but it would only be after tonight that the world would see her as a woman, too.

Her thoughts did not revolve only around her sweet Tom, though; Barbara thought about Phyllis, too. The older woman had looked happy, and touched, and somewhat confused as Barbara came down the aisle. Her ordinary scowl had been replaced by an almost furious smile, as if she had decided to be glad no matter what the day brought.

That smile had touched something inside Barbara, had tickled some emotion that she recognised faintly. Instead of nodding at it and then go on her merry way, like she would do with a polite stranger, she took the feeling by the hand and held it at arm’s length, studying it.

She was none the wiser when a small hand touched her shoulder.

“Barbara?”

“Mrs. Turner?”

“Do call me Shelagh, dearest.” She kissed Barbara on the cheek. “Congratulations,” she said, voice soft and pleasant.

“Thank you. I heard you are to be congratulated, too,” Barbara said.

Shelagh’s face lit up, and she smiled beatifically. “I’ve been truly blessed,” she said.

“Is that why you came here? To offer thanks?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. Patrick didn’t much like it. If it was up to him, I’d still be in bed. But I can never lie still for long,” Shelagh confessed.

“No,” Barbara agreed.

“But what are you doing here?” Shelagh asked, sitting herself down gingerly next to the young nurse and taking her hands in her own small ones.

“I wanted a bit of time to reflect, before the reception, and everything after,” Barbara confessed.

“Oh. I don’t wish to intrude. Shall I leave you in peace?”

“No, I… there is something you might be able to help me with, Shelagh,” Barbara said.

Faint worry lines appeared between Shelagh’s eyebrows, like they always did when she thought about something.

Barbara licked her lips to give herself a heartbeat longer to think. “My mother died when I was young,” she started, “so I already knew I would have a wedding without her. I had to ask someone else to do the things a mother usually does when her daughter gets married, and I chose Phyllis. She’s such a dear friend, and I knew she would do so well. She was so happy when I asked her, too; I don’t think she had ever expected to be asked for anything like this. And now I feel…” Barbara bit her lip as she searched for the right words. “We are close friends, but this didn’t feel like friendship, and now I don’t know what I’m feeling. And I thought that maybe you could help me. I know your wedding was before my time at Nonnatus, but Trixie told me that you didn’t have a mother to give you away either…” she trailed off, blushing suddenly and feeling faintly foolish.

“I asked Sister Julienne to give me away,” Shelagh said.

“You are very close, aren’t you?”

“Yes. We go back a long time,” Shelagh said, smiling again, encouraging Barbara to say what was on her mind.

“I think that what I feel for Phyllis is a bit like what a daughter feels for a mother, but I am unsure and it confuses me. I wondered how you name your feelings for Sister Julienne,” Barbara blurted out, immediately wincing at the blunt way she had put her wish into words, making it sound like a demand more than a question.

Shelagh sat thinking for a short while, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the back of Barbara’s hands.

“You know that Patrick and I had a rather… unusual courtship,” she said eventually.

Barbara blushed and made stuttering protestations, but Shelagh cut her off. “It is quite alright, Barbara. I gave the gossipers of Poplar a field day when I left the convent to marry Patrick. More of a few field months, actually.” She smiled faintly. “I had been falling in love with him for so long…” Her voice trailed off, and though she was looking at the glass-stained windows, Barbara was sure she was seeing something very different.

“What I meant to say is that certain things become easier to understand when we name them. A combination of symptoms that make our heart race in fear lose part of their power when we ascribe them to a certain disease, because the name of that disease gives the sufferer perception. He knows what he can expect. It is not just so with diseases, but with feelings, too. My emotions for Patrick were incredibly strong, and I could not understand them. I even thought that I’d lost my faith, for a while,” Shelagh continued.

“That must have been terrible,” Barbara said. She was familiar with the comforts that faith could bring; simply contemplating the idea that the woman next to her became a nun, and then started to doubt that ethereal entity around which her life revolved, brought Barbara a dull sort of pain.

“It was. I was confused, lost, wandering. But what I felt had a name: it was love.”

“Yes,” Barbara said, and understood; what she felt for Tom was profound, and strong, and she imagined it could grow into the kind of love the doctor had for his wife, and that she had for him in return.

“So, sometimes it helps to name what we feel, but not always,” Shelagh went on. “Love has different forms, and those different forms come with different expectations. Friendship is love, but it is different from the love between a father and son, or two lovers. When I think of Sister Julienne, what I feel is love. I do not care to put a different label on it, because that would limit what I am allowed to feel. Teacher and pupil, two friends, mother and daughter… they are all true, and what other word is there for those sensations but the simple word ‘love’?” 

“Oh,” Barbara said.

“Maybe it will help you to simply think of Phyllis as someone you love, and leave the labelling to the rest of the world. They are happy enough to do it for you, I assure you,” Shelagh joked.

Barbara squeezed her hand. “I understand,” she said, and she did. She contemplated what her colleague and friend had said for a little while, then asked: “Would you think me beastly if I left you here?”

“Not at all, dearest. I like being here. Besides, it is your day; spend it like you want to,” Shelagh said.

“Thank you, for your kind words, and…” Barbara said, gesturing helplessly before kissing Shelagh’s cheek, earning her a soft smile.

 _I’m still not very good at naming things,_ Barbara thought as she left the chapel, but realised it didn’t matter. There was still a bit of time left before the reception would start, and she didn’t spend it like most brides, hugging her husband or smoothing the folds in her dress. Instead, she spent it with Phyllis, a woman who was her friend, and perhaps like a mother; a woman who was loved.


End file.
